Glass Doors
by Midnight Raptor
Summary: Cameron takes a late night detour after her shift in the ER and finds herself in a certain department with glass doors. Summary sucks. Hameron. One-shot. Set after "No More Mr. Nice Guy". Please R&R!


Title: Glass Doors

Pairing: House/Cameron

Warnings: Slight spoilers from "No More Mr. Nice Guy" and "Half Wit"

A/N: Okay, so, this is my fourth House/Cameron fic. I've been wanting to write something since I got out of school 3 weeks ago so this is what I came up with. Took me quite a while to get this all thought out so it might be a little...clunky. I don't know how else to describe it. It takes place a few days after "No More Mr. Nice Guy" but before "Living the Dream". I know Cameron's said that she doesn't miss House in...I think it's "Living the Dream" so just ignore that for the sake of this story. And excuse the very unimaginative title. I couldn't think of one. XP Um...so yea. Please read and review!

Disclaimer: Again, I don't own House, Cameron, Hugh Laurie, Jennifer Morrison, or anything dealing with the show. All I own is this scene.

Glass Doors

It was late. The halls of PPTH were silent and still and rightfully so. After all, what normal person wanted to stay any longer than usual at a job that claimed almost every waking minute of their day? However, a certain blonde wasn't one of those people and so without realizing it, she found herself on the 4th floor, standing in the glass doorway of a conference room.

She tucked a stray strand of her long, blond hair behind an ear and slowly looked around. Her gaze came across a medium-sized glass table to her left. It was clear of all clutter at the moment but she knew that during the day it was littered with files, x-rays, test results and other medical paraphernalia. It was there, she remembered, that she and her colleagues had performed various differential diagnosis during the duration of their fellowship. Sometimes she hated it, feeling helpless and horrible if the diagnosis wasn't good but sometimes she loved it, a great burden being lifted off of her shoulders when the patient still had some hope left.

Allowing her eyes to shift to the right, she took in the kitchenette in the corner, its ever present coffeemaker now empty and off for the day. Above it, almost like a small beacon, was a bright red mug resting on the shelf. She smiled to herself. Just a few months ago it had been her job as the department's unofficial coffeemaker to make sure that the caffeine-filled mixture was hot and ready by the time the owner of the mug walked through the conference room door. Unbeknownst to her colleagues, she secretly liked her job and took some strange pride when an entire pot would be drained in less than an hour.

As she moved her gaze, her eyes came to rest on the next noticeable object in the room: the department's infamous white board. Several symptoms were still printed on its gleaming surface, the words written in black ink. She had always admired his handwriting. For someone who was as disorganized and chaotic as him, his writing was surprisingly flawless, with each letter flowing continuously onto the next. Hers, on the other hand, resembled that of a "teenaged school girl" as he so graciously pointed out during her first year as a fellow. She had bristled upon initially hearing the remark but eventually grew to take it in stride. At least he hadn't said that it looked like a seven year old boy's messy scrawl.

To the right of the white board was a small metal desk and she immediately felt a sense of fondness come over her as she saw it. For three years, this desk had been her haven, her refuge, her sanctuary. Many people knew that if you ever needed to find Allison Cameron at some ungodly time of the day, she was always in one of three places: her apartment, the lab, or her beloved research desk. Countless late nights had been spent holed up in front of the computer screen, her fingers flying over the keys before she lost her train of thought. Some would've called this borderline insanity but others would call it devotion. Whatever it was called, she'd merely shrug it off, having never been one to care what people thought.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she became aware of a figure of a man in the adjoining room. She hesitated for a split second before allowing herself to step into the conference room and then, as quietly as she could, proceeded to the door that connected the two rooms. Stopping in the doorway, which was being propped open by a book jammed in the bottom as a makeshift stopper, she stood there, eyebrows raised, and took in the sight before her.

He was sitting in his swivel chair, hands folded in his lap, while his legs stretched out in front of him and rested on his desk, crossed at the ankles. Over his ears were a pair of headphones, its cord running down his chest and disappearing into one of his pockets. His head was tilted back in the headrest, his eyes were closed, and she smirked softly to herself as she saw his mouth hanging slightly open. Yes, Gregory House was very flattering, indeed.

"You know, it's not polite to spy on people."

Startled, she flinched at the sudden voice. She watched as House opened an eye and gazed lazily in her direction. How he managed to know it was her or that there was someone there for that matter, was a mystery to her.

The corners of her lips twitched in a small smile. "I wasn't spying, merely…observing." she replied, leaning against the doorway.

He proceeded to open his other eye. "Yeah, well. It isn't polite to do that either."

"Since when do you care about being polite?"

"Since the Dalai Lama said that treating other with dignity and honor was the way to enlightenment. It's part of a spiritual cleansing I'm going through." he replied, looking at her seriously.

She scoffed. "Right. And Hitler's just been made a saint by the pope." Coming off her perch by the door, she stepped into his office.

"Oh ye of little faith." he tsked as he removed the headphones from his ears and placed them around his neck.

They considered each other for a moment.

"What are you doing here?" he asked after awhile. "Did Chase ditch you for a slumber party at Barbie's?"

Stopping in front of his desk, she folded her arms and looked down at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but Chase and I aren't together."

He nodded slowly and she imagined a snarky comment forming in his brain. But all he said in reply was, "Glad to hear it. You still didn't answer my question."

"I'm off duty." "Again with the roundabout answers."

_Touche_, she thought. "I'm not allowed to have a casual conversation with my former boss?" she asked, amused. House cocked his head. "Not when you interrupt him from a well deserved nap."

Raising an eyebrow, she smirked and replied, "If you're tired, go home. Don't sit in your office all night."

"But I love the hospital." he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "How could I ever leave?"

"You'll manage."

Again, there was a moment of silence as they stared at each other, sizing the other up like two boxers in the ring.

"So why are you really here?" he asked, repeating his original question. Lifting his feet off of his desk, he set them on the floor and gazed at her even more intently. "Thought you'd give saving me another go? 'Cause, you know, Thirteen's got Huntington's and that probably rates a billion on your charity case scale."

Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. She'd heard rumors floating around that one of the young doctors on House's new team had some sort of life-threatening illness but had decided to ignore it. They were, after all, just rumors. But leave it to House to fan the flames.

"I just wanted to see you." she answered after a few seconds and she watched his reaction carefully, wanting to see if he'd betray himself. And he did. It was the smallest thing, a blink of his eyes and the split second beat between her statement and his reply, but it was enough for her. "You see me."

"You know what I mean."

Another silence filled the air.

House's trademark smirk pulled at his lips. "Just admit that you miss me." he said.

"What? Now I have to miss someone in order to justify wanting to see them?" _Although that is the reason I came_, she added silently.

"That's kinda the definition, yeah."

She considered him for a moment before finally answering, a slight smile apparent in her voice. "Fine. I miss you."

"You always were too easy."

"Shut up." she said upon seeing the familiar self-satisfied glint in his eyes. She paused. "So, how are the cases?"

"Boring and predictable."

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Really? I heard about Mr. Nice Guy. Figures you would find that a negative quality."

"And if it hadn't been for that insane idea I never would've found out that the man was _dying_." he retorted, emphasizing his last word and she watched as he dug into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of pills.

"Well then it seems to me that based on your theory, about a fourth of the 'healthy' population is actually on their deathbeds."

"Aren't the numbers tragic?" Opening the tiny bottle, he drew out the last Vicodin and popped it into his mouth.

Knowing that he was once again poking fun at her humanity, she made an attempt to glare at him but failed horribly as his bright blue eyes bore into hers. Instead, she softened her gaze and asked quietly, "Do I go in that category?"

He considered her question for a moment. "You should." he answered, rising from his chair and turning to the bookshelf behind him where she knew he kept a stash of Vicodin hidden. "But you fit more under 'pathetic.'"

"Wanting to help people is pathetic?"

He turned to look at her, a new, unopened bottle in his hand. "I don't care if you help people. It's what we do as doctors. But wanting to fix people? That's pathetic." He swallowed another pill.

"You want it to be pathetic." she replied smoothly and made her way slowly around his desk, her arms still crossed. "Because then you can label the people who want to fix you as incompetent fools because aside from their need to fix people, you can't find a fault in them." Stopping a few steps away from him, she looked up and their eyes locked. They stared at each other for a few seconds before lowering both of their gazes. "I never wanted to fix you." she said quietly to his feet. "I just hoped that maybe one day you'd find that living life wasn't nearly as miserable as you made it to be." Her eyes flitted back up to his and she thought she saw something different in those piercing, blue orbs. "But what the hell? I'm still pathetic."

"Always will be."

Finally uncrossing her arms, she stepped closer to him, never letting her eyes wander from his. He was looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and smugness, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"You don't have a needle, do you?"

She laughed quietly, remembering the last time they were in this situation. Leaning forward, she placed soft kiss on his cheek, right by the corner of his mouth. She felt him tense, her sudden movement obviously surprising him.

"Goodnight, House." she whispered and looked into his eyes once more before she turned and walked away. Upon reaching the door, she took the handle and managed to open it a crack when a voice spoke behind her.

"Cameron."

She turned slightly to look at him and waited for him to speak. His brow creased with indecision as he focused on a point on the floor. After a several tense moments, he opened his mouth to address her.

"I miss you too." he said, his voice unusually quiet.

She watched as he raised his eyes to meet hers, his gaze sincere, uncertain even. Offering him a small smile, she nodded and proceeded to exit the office. And as she did, she swore she saw faint smile of his own grace his lips as she turned away.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know some of you may think that House is a little OOC by saying that he misses Cameron too but I really wanted him to say something to that effect in the end and I couldn't come up with something snarkier that said the same thing so I just went with that. Anyway, please review! They make me happy! ;)


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